


Pelvis Pusher

by AutumnDreams



Category: Spooks | MI-5
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt, End of Marriage, Ex Sex, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Floor Sex, Fucking, Implied/Referenced Cheating, Porn With Plot, Sexual Content, Woman on Top
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-18
Updated: 2016-09-18
Packaged: 2018-01-05 00:37:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,264
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1087505
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AutumnDreams/pseuds/AutumnDreams
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This was the original one-shot that inspired the previously posted story 'Still and Always Will'. Yes, Harry is married to Ruth in this but that is perhaps the only positive part. And after reading this, you may not even think that. I apologize now for those who will hate this story - *warning* Harry cheats on Ruth - only read if you can handle that.</p>
<p><i>January 19th, 2014</i>After some thought, I've decided to continue this story; though it will be different than other stories I've written; to see if there's any way Harry and Ruth can salvage their marriage.  I should say - Harry and Ruth <b><i>will</i></b> salvage their marriage - but it's going to be an interesting, sex filled journey back together ending in explosive means.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Pelvis Pusher - or where Ruth finds out Harry's cheating

**Author's Note:**

> AN: Alright, this was also inspired by the same comment made by Sigma Creations in the Facebook HR group, though this was the first one-shot I wrote. After writing this, I felt I needed to write Still and Always Will to counteract the...plot of this one shot. Set anytime really; Harry is married to Ruth in this so that makes it non-canon.
> 
> As a warning I have to say Harry cheats on Ruth, though I've decided that it will eventually have a happy ending.
> 
> Thanks to NatesDate for reading this through as well. Know it's not many peoples type of fic.

He's sitting in the back garden, tumbler of whisky on a wrought iron table beside him. It's a cloudless night, the moon illuminating the green space. In the distance, the sounds of the London evening rush can be heard, but here; in the quiet of his personal space; it can be ignored. His fingers tap relentlessly against the table top, nails softly clicking as he waits for the phone to ring.

They'd agreed on half past 6.

It was now 6.41.

Reaching for the thin, silver device, he's about to cave and call her when it rings. Looking at the screen, he breathes a sigh of relief, fingers deftly pushing the answer button.

"I was getting worried." he breathes, his tense body relaxing in the chair. "No, I have some time." he mutters, settling in to listen to her talk. "Ruth's picking up the dry cleaning." It's a reassurance to him; immersing himself in the rhythm of her voice as she inquires about their weekend plans.

"Everything's set." He says, eyes wandering across the garden. "I've booked the hotel in Leeds and I stopped at the chemist this morning to pick up the condoms." He pauses, listening as her silky voice shares what exactly she wants to do with him; to him; over the weekend. "No, we'll have all day Friday, Saturday and Sunday. Ruth isn't expecting me home until Sunday evening at the earliest." He's quiet again, listening as she tells him what she has; or hasn't; packed, his mind wondering if his body is up for the physical feats she's shared from her to-do list. So it's no surprise that he's startled when a square box drops to the table. Eyes wide, he stares at the extra large package of condoms, and realization dawns.

"I have to go." he says quickly, disconnecting the call as he stands.

Setting his phone next to the box, he turns to find Ruth, her eyes alight with anger as she stares at him.

"How long?"

It's the question he's been expecting since this thing began the month before but one he's not prepared an answer for.

"Ruth..."

She raises her hand, stopping him in mid-word. "How long have you been fucking around behind my back."

He steps towards her, his hand reaching out as he moves to touch her arm, only to be stopped when she shrugs away.

"Do you really want the answer to that?" he whispers, defeat causing his shoulders to slump.

"How long Harry?" she asks again, eyes burning into his as she stands rigidly.

"It started last month."

She's quite a moment, trying to place the time frame and he can see when realization dawns. "How did it..." she stops, head shaking before she continues. "Who is it?"

"Ruth. Please. Don't do this."

"Tell me!" she demands.

"Bridgette Wells, the DG's senior adviser." he murmurs, trying again to move towards her.

Only to have her step back; again.

"The week you were in Exeter for the conference on advanced encryption techniques." He sighs, hands dropping to his side as he continues. "You decided to stop and visit your mother for the weekend; catch up and see how they were doing with Peter's...passing."

"You can't go one week without sex?" she snorts, eyes starting to glisten.

"No!" he says loudly, "no. It wasn't like that. I missed you, yes. And I'll admit to being somewhat...horny...after our phone conversation Friday night. But I swear to you, I didn't go out seeking sex."

"What, the DG's senior adviser delivers sexual favours?"

"Ruth, please...just...she dropped off some updated files I needed." He sighs again, eyes drifting over her shoulder as he continues. "I had been playing the piano. She asked if she could use the loo. What could I say, no?"

Her eyes widen as she takes in what he's saying. "You fucked her in our house?"

"Yes." he whispers, eyes meeting hers again as he somehow continues. "I...I was sitting on the bench when she came back. We were talking about composers, the best piano pieces, when she sat down next to me. And...one thing led to another. It wasn't supposed to happen."

"What exactly happened?" she asks, teeth clenched as she shakes in anger.

"Ruth, you don't want to know."

"Don't tell me what I want! I want to know what happened. What she has that made you break your vows to me."

Anger beginning to simmer, he stares at her a moment before continuing. "What do you want to know Ruth? How in the middle of the conversation on piano composers she sunk to her knees and gave me the best blow job I've ever had? That she can do things with her hands and mouth you could never think of? And while still in that orgasmic haze, I lifted her to the top of the piano and ate her out until she was gripping me to her by my hair and screaming my name? That I enjoyed the feeling of her silky thighs squeezing my head as I tongue fucked her. Or that before she left, she took me by the hand and led me to my study where I leaned her over the desk and took her from behind. That I needed nothing more than seeing her tight ass cheeks flexing and the tops of her lace thigh highs to make me hard again so soon after my last orgasm."

Stepping back he turns to look at the garden, watching as the wind rustles the leaves before he continues. 

"That two to three mornings a week; when you thought I was going to early meetings with the DG; I was really stopping at her flat for what was normally a quick and thorough fuck." He stops, watching as her eyes widen in shock before continuing. "Or how I was two hours late last week because she rode me for what had to be an hour straight; my erection throbbing with want of release from the cock ring she put on me before slamming herself onto me. How I got harder and harder as she teased me with her dripping, tight cunt and large, perky breasts. That when she finally let me cum, it was the most intense, mind-blowing orgasm I have ever had."

Stepping closer to her, he stares down at her. "What do you want to know Ruth? That yes, I'm not going to a conference this weekend, but rather Leeds where I plan to engage in sex acts you would blush from even hearing mentioned, let alone think about? Is that what you want to know?"

Eyes glistening, Ruth snaps out of her shock and slaps him, her hand stinging from where it met his cheek.

"You bastard."

She raises her hand to slap him again, her open palm moving towards his cheek, only to be stopped as he reaches up and grips her hand. Pulling her to him, he holds her tight, pressing her between his body and the brick wall.

"I love you Ruth. That hasn't changed. It won't. But even you'll admit that you're not the most...adventurous when it comes to sex. Bridgette...it's mostly about the thrill of the illicit sex and having something...more."

"You love me so much," she hisses, anger surging through her again, "that not once did you indicate our sex life wasn't enough for you. That you couldn't ask if I'd be willing to explore something more; just assumed you knew my answer."

"I know you Ruth. Your purity is one thing I love most about you." Leaning down, Harry kisses her, his lips trying to coax some feeling from her rigid stance. Lips resting against hers, he murmurs, "I love you, Ruth. I come home to you. I want you."

"I don't want you." Hands pressing against his chest, Ruth pushes him away, struggling to put distance between them. "I will never trust you again."


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: It was never my intention to have actually work through Harry's cheating on Ruth, and yet, a little seed was planted and tended to from a little voice that said 'what if Ruth decides that since Harry's gone out and had an affair, that she should have one too.' Only Ruth decides that since their marriage is over, why not have an affair with Harry? Why not explore a deeper, more buried sexual part of herself that she's quietly kept hidden in a sense of fear of being rejected. And so Ruth unconsciously sets out to have an affair with Harry while at the same time, Harry is having to come to grasps with a Ruth he's not expected, one who at the time, he's not entirely sure he wants as he misses his wife; the woman he's placed on a pedestal. So I ask for you to give this story a chance, as I promise you they will wind up together and still married, they just need to work through the anger, the cheating, the hurt, and everything else that comes with it. And their marriage will be stronger then it was before. =0)

She stares at the man standing across from her, top button of his shirt undone, a pleading to his eyes as he tries to make her understand.  As he begs her to listen.

"Please Ruth, just..." There's an edge to his voice, one she is not used to hearing, and yet, it does little more than annoy her.  It's been three days since she has thrown him from their house, since they've done more than grudgingly functioned together on the Grid, and yet her anger and hurt is even greater than it was.

"Get whatever you need and get out," she says to him, pulling her dressing gown tighter as they stand in the sitting room.

"I need you," he says, taking a step towards her.  "Tell me what to do to make this right, what I need to do to save our marriage."

* * *

 

Hands clutching the carpet, Harry tries to hold onto his self control, tries to keep from begging or from crying out, from gripping her hips with his hands and flipping them over, from pounding himself into her for the release he so desperately needs.

So desperately wants.

Never, in all his years, has he felt the need to cum as much he does right now.  Even that morning of intense sexual pleasure he had felt just weeks before; that he had thrown in her face; had not come close to the feeling that is deeply rooted in him now.   The tingling in his stomach, in his thighs, in his balls is deep, challenging his rigid self control.  And Ruth is making it near impossible to hold on.

She is riding him; her silky, smooth thighs tightly gripping his hips as her palms slide up and down his chest, her breasts tantalizingly bouncing with each roll of her hips; and he has another moment where he is on the verge of begging. 

But no, he can't.

She's made the decision that she is going to see how many times she could cum before he does; in other words taking her pleasure before allowing him any.

And as a man, how can he resist a challenge like that?

Especially as he owes her more than he can begin to repay.

Her first orgasm had been no problem.  The tiny gasps of pleasure as he'd run his fingers through her soft curls had aroused him, made him hard, but never more than he'd been in the two years of their marriage.  The second orgasm hadn't been any more difficult to hold out from, what with her thighs tightly clamping against his head as he'd suckled on her clitoris, his tongue lapping at her folds as his thumb had caressed her over that second peak.  But now; as she works towards her fourth orgasm; he isn't sure he can hold out.

At some point; he's not sure when; he's wound up on his back, starring at the ceiling of their sitting room as Ruth rides him, her body glistening with sweat, her head thrown back as she moans loudly, her inner muscle tightening sensually around his rock hard cock.

"God Ruth, I'm not going to last," he groans out.

"I've only had three," she gasps, struggling to lower her eyes to his.  She wants; no _needs_ ; him to shatter, to realize she can be as sexual as his exploit.  That all he had ever needed was her.

To comprehend what he has lost.

Raising herself up, she feels him quivering before pushing herself down again, moaning at the feeling of his rigid shaft stretching her even more.  "And you owe me."

Hands raising to her hips, Harry pulls her down against him, hazel eyes black as he pleads with her.  "Please Ruth, I _need_ to cum."

Hands caressing his collar bone, she meets his gaze.  "Tell me something."

"Anything."  He doesn't care what he has to reveal as long as she lets him cum.  State secrets and personal ones be damned.

"Who do you want more?"

Fingers squeezing her hips tightly, he freezes.  "God you have to even ask?"

Rotating her hips, she feels him buck beneath her, hears him moan her name as his nails dig into her skin.  Hands on his shoulders, she lifts herself up, feels the head of his rigid penis slide free to brush against her clitoris, and fights back her own moan as she slowly takes him inside her again.  Teasingly, she clenches her kegel muscles, watches as his head falls back against the floor.  "Tell me Harry."

"Fuck," he groans out, body shaking from the effort of not coming in that moment.  "You," he gasps, pelvis lifting as he tries to thrust up into her.  "Always you."

His buttocks is off the floor, thighs quivering with strain as he tries to bury himself in her liquid warmth, and he groans in frustration as she rolls her hips again, teases him as she makes to move away.  Snapping, he grasps her hips, rolls them so she's on her back, her thighs still tightly gripping his hips as he hovers over her, eyes drawn to where his penis is just sheathed within her.  She moves than, her pelvis rolling back as she relaxes her muscles and he slips free, his erection hot and stiff as it falls to rest on her thigh, her eyes hard with anger when he finally meets them.

"Bitch," he growls out, anger and frustration coursing through him in a sudden wave.  Guiding himself back to her entrance with his hand, he thrusts hard, burying himself deeply within her.  "Fucking bitch."

Legs falling open, Ruth throws her head back and screams in pleasure as he thrusts harder, head of his penis bruising her womb as his pelvis pounds into hers.  "More!" She demands, heels digging into the floor as she lifts up to meet him.

Harry growls again as he moves his head down and takes her erect nipple between his teeth.  This is both the most intense pleasure and the most exquisite pain he has ever felt as his entire body is taunt.  "I'm coming," he mumbles against her flesh, biting down as he hammers into her, pelvis bone against pelvis bone as he comes hard.

Distantly he hears her scream again in her fourth orgasm; feels her body press up hard against him as her inner muscles clamp him in a vice like grip and her arms wrap about his shoulders tightly; but he's too far gone to care.

His arms give out as he falls onto her, his breath comes in rough gasps against her shoulder as he all but passes out.

* * *

 

He's not sure how long he's been unconscious when he comes to to find himself pressing fully into Ruth.  His penis, now flaccid, has slipped from her and is uncomfortably caught between their groins in a sticky mess, and he thinks he feels a warm wetness against his shoulder.  Groaning, he weakly pushes himself up to gaze down at the woman he loves and freezes.

She's crying, her eyes scrunched together tightly as she quietly gasps in tears.

Nothing else mattering, he rolls to his side, his arms wrapping tightly around her as he tries to pull her to him, soothing words leaving his lips as he whispers to her.  "God Ruth.  I'm sorry, I didn't mean to hurt you, to bruise you.  I don't know what came over me."  He makes to brush away her tears, to kiss her softly, but she fights him, her smaller hands pushing at his shoulders as she makes to get away. 

Reluctantly he releases her, watches as she moves away from him.  She grabs at her discarded dressing gown, angrily thrusting her arms into it before standing, her hands rigidly pushing through her hair as she stares down at him, eyes now hard.

"Thanks for the fuck.  Now get out."

Eyes wide, Harry scrambles as quickly as he can to his feet, and moves towards her, ignoring his nakedness for the moment as he reaches to rest a hand on her arm.  "Ruth?"

"What Harry?" she asks, shoulders straightening as she looks up at him.  She sees something in his eyes and she finds herself laughing bitterly.  "What?  Did you think what we just did was make love?  That an orgasm or four would make things all better and we'd just move forward into happy matrimony again?"

His silence is enough of a confirmation for bitterness and anger and hope; yes _hope_ ; to rush through her and she turns from him, her eyes sweeping around the room as she strives to reign in her thoughts.  Breathing deeply, she turns back to him.

"It wasn't and we won't.  I told you the other day - we're over.  What we just did was fuck.  Pure and simple, animalistic fucking.  And now, you can leave."

And before he can answer; before he can _speak_ ; she walks out.  He stands there in silence, his eyes wide, his heart in his stomach as he listens to her move up the stairs, hears the bathroom door slam shut and the shower turn on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: As I said, please give this a chance. I've done some research and reading on the web, and think that they _can_ overcome this to save their marriage.


	3. Chapter 3

_**AN: Thanks to HR Always Lives On for giving this a read through and listening to my ideas on this. Hopefully this clears a bit up from the last chapter while still sticking with the theme I'm trying for this.** _

* * *

It's Monday afternoon when Harry next sees Ruth. After she had thrown him out of their house, he had spent the weekend enclosed in his hotel room, a bottle of whisky his only company, as he tried to make sense of what had occurred between them.

_Flashback_

_The door snaps shut with a solid thud as Harry stands in his hotel room, sports jacket hanging limply from his hands as he gazes around. It seems impossible that three hours before he had left with the intention of speaking with Ruth, of finding a way to make her understand that though he has strayed to someone else for sex, he has not come close to giving anyone else his heart. That unlike his first marriage, he loves her dearly and fully._

_That will never change._

_His dalliance with Bridgette had been nothing more than scratching an itch sexually that he would never expect her too. Ruth was too much an innocent to engage in the various acts that he found stimulating at times. Of course, it hadn't come out as that when she'd found out. Instead, her anger and what he'd wrongly perceived as nagging had led to him lashing out, of saying things he never meant to say to her._

_And so he'd gone to see her._

_What he hadn't expected was to find her curled on the sofa, obviously still in her pajamas, with a book in her hands, so deeply engrossed in it that she hadn't heard him come in. After locking the door and resetting the alarm, he had turn to just watch her. It was obvious she had been crying; something he had known she had been striving to hide from the team these past few days; and an ache had settled deep in his chest._

_Still unaware that she was being watched, Ruth had shifted on the sofa, turning a page with a sigh and a swipe at a tear, leaving him feeling even more guilt. Removing his shoes and jacket, he had crossed into the room, softly calling her name._

_"Ruth."_

_Head whipping up, Ruth stares at him, her eyes stormy as she quickly closes the book. "What the hell are you doing here Harry?"_

_Glancing at the title of the book, he feels a sense of relief flood him._

_'How Can I Ever Trust You Again?: Infidelity: From Discovery to Recovery in Seven Steps'_

_"Ruth," he says again, stepping closer as he temporarily ignores her question. "How are you?"_

_"Wonderful," her voice has an edge of sarcasm to it as she sets the book on the arm and stands, drawing her dressing gown closed. "I've had a lovely lie in this morning followed by breakfast in bed. Not a worry to be had." Stepping towards him, she stops a few feet away and glares at him. "How do you think I am Harry?"_

_"I'm sorry," he says, lifting a hand to reach out to her until he thinks better of it. Leaving his hand fall to his side, he sighs. "I never wanted this Ruth, never meant to hurt you."_

_"It's a little late for sorry Harry, it's not going to make it better or go away," she says, folding her arms around her middle._

_"You can't think that Ruth. We've overcome so much to be together, I know we can do it again." This time, he does reach out to her, wraps his hand around her wrist and squeezes gently. "Right now it doesn't seem like it, but we will."_

_"We won't," she says with confidence, pulling away from him. "I want a divorce." She stares at the man standing across from her, the top button of his shirt undone, a pleading to his eyes as he realizes she's serious._

_"Please Ruth, just..." there's an edge to his voice, one she is not used to heading, and yet, it does little more than annoy her. Three days have passed since she threw him from their home, since they'd done nothing more than grudgingly functioned together on the Grid, and yet her anger and hurt is even greater._

_"Ger whatever you need and get out."_

_He's unsure at this point how that had lead to them having the greatest sex of his life on their living room floor; unsure who moved first - Ruth or himself. But as he stripped from his clothes and stepped into the single shower stall, Harry had relived those tense moments._

_No matter what Ruth said or thought, it had been so much more then fucking. They'd made love on that floor. Intense, soul shattering love that had gripped him tightly and taken him to a place he'd never been in orgasm._

_Just thinking of it had made him hard again, his groin tightening as images of Ruth moving over him filled his mind. Hating himself a bit more, Harry had stood in the shower, water pouring over his head, jerking himself off. As he'd stroked and pulled at his erection, it had taken little energy to imagine being buried in his wife again, her muscles milking him as he came instead of his right hand._

_After, he had cleaned himself, dried himself, and sat in loose trousers and a shirt thinking._

_Plotting._

And now he's seeing her again. She looks the same; long flowing skirt wrapped around her legs, bottom brushing the top of a pair of leather heeled boots, a wine coloured blouse loosely wrapped around her succulent curves, brown hair curling around her shoulders as she follows him into his office, a file folder in her hand. She's professional; even a bit curt; as she relays the information of their latest case to him.

He's been to see the Director General, had seen Bridgette, and found himself feeling nothing but disgust and self loathing as he'd discussed the latest threat assessment with the blonde haired woman. All through the hours of being sequestered away in that office, he'd found himself wanting his wife.

Wanting her to stay _as_ his wife as well as wanting to pin her to a wall and bury his throbbing erection inside of her.

Or perhaps to smell her musk as he kneels in front of her, head buried between her legs as he spreads her with his fingers to lap at her wet sex. Knickers on the floor, skirt flowing over his shoulders as his tongue and lips suck her clitoris, three fingers from his free hand thrusting inside of her.

He'd left the meeting with his long coat covering his erection.

And now that he has her alone and in his office, he's unsure what he wants or how to act. As she talks, he pulls off his gloves to drop them on the desk. Long coat following, he drops it before crossing to the door and closing it, snapping the lock set with a flick of the wrist. Whatever happens in the here and now, he does not want to be interrupted.

As he crosses to close the blinds, she turns to look at him, his name slipping from her lips in confusion. "Harry?"

* * *

_**AN: Thank you for reading.** _


	4. Chapter 4

**_AN: I am so sorry for the delay in getting this chapter to you.  While I know where I want the story to go, and even what I want to happen, getting the right emotion and feeling is challenging.  Thank you to rosetintedblindspot for all your thoughts and insights._ **

 

* * *

 

She watches as he locks the door, a look of confusion filling her face.  "Harry, what are you...," she trails off as he turns to her, eyes the color of honey as they drift across her.  It's difficult for her, with everything that has happened in the span of a week, to decipher what it is that's going on in his mind.  She doubts herself now, where once she thought she could read him, and the spark of warmth is crushed by the bitter memory of him admitting to his affair.  Dragging her eyes from his, she looks him over, taking in the neatly knotted tie; that gold one she bought for his last birthday, rightfully guessing how well it would accent his blonde hair.  Noting how perfectly it fits with the crisp white shirt and black coat.

Letting her eyes drift lower, over his hips, she freezes, eyes widening and then narrowing as the confusion turns to disbelief.  "Of course."

Her voice is low, filled with ice now as her mind scans through his diary, remembering the last appointment.  16.30 - _meeting with DG._

The reason she has spent the last week ranging between emotions of hate and anger, pain and sorrow.  Questioning what it is that went wrong in their marriage; one they both confessed to wanting so desperately; that the first pair of perky breasts and blonde hair would turn his head.  She's come up with a list; a _long_ list; as that's one thing she's good at, and realized that he wasn't the only one at fault. 

Both of them were.

She'd also spent time thinking about what she wanted - did she even want to try and forgive him.  Her answer had been so sure that morning, but now...

"Ruth?" he says, moving towards her, eyes drilling into hers as he stops by her side.  He's aware of what she's seen, and even more, what she's thinking, but for the moment, he wants; _needs_ ; for it to stay down.  "I don't want to be interrupted," he says, shaking his head as her eyes narrow even more.  "We need to talk.  That's all."

"Is that what you're calling it," she spits out, anger boiling within once again.  "Tell me Harry, how was your paramour?  Receptive to your advances?"  Shaking the folder at him, she forgets for the moment that they're at work and that others could be outside the walls.  "Or did she turn you down?  That now that the thrill of illicit sex is no longer available, she's no use of you.  You're just the man she momentarily fucked as a distraction from the mundane of her life.  Except your penis doesn't understand that, has a mind of its own, and now you've an erection that's bursting to be free."  She's close to yelling now, the anger and hurt she feels so deep within.  "I am not your consolation fuck."

He frowns, eyes focused on hers as he reaches out to snag the folder from her grip, never giving it a second glance as he drops it to the floor.  Stepping closer, he tries to speak calmly - rationally - as he reaches for her.  "I know you're angry with me, that you've every right to be, but can you please not yell.  Not _here_ at least."  His fingers brush her arm, feels the jolt of electricity he's always felt with her rushes through him as he continues.  "And you should know you have never been, nor will you ever be, a consolation fuck."

Breathing deep, he tries to think of anything to tamper his desire for her, but the anger she's throwing at him; the _fire_ emanating from her; is causing him to harden even more.  It's the most emotion she's shown in over a year.  Reaching out for her, he steps closer, watching as she takes a step back.  "You seem to think," he says as his voice drops, "that you know everything my darling Ruth; and in most cases, I would have to agree with you; but for once, you are entirely misguided."

Closer now, he steps, intrigued by the dance they're dancing, until her momentum is stopped by the wall.  Eyes wide, she stares at him, the furry evident with the slight 'oomph' she makes.  Now, he has her trapped, and his hand lifts, brushing the hair softly from her face as he smiles at her, continuing softly.  "I have never had sex with a woman at work," he stops sensing her argument as he gently lays a finger against her lips, "not one I wasn't in love with at least, and I am not planning on starting now."

His fingers trail along her cheek, eyes locked on hers as he feels the warmth of her skin.  "And before you even question it, I _love_ you, and I will only _ever_ love you."  The last is said on a mutter, his lips brushing the sensitive skin of her ear, breath playing across the lobe.  "My penis, as you so eloquently put it, is in this state of erection because of _you_.  Not Bridgette.  Not some random woman I saw walking downstairs.  But you."

"Right," she says, swallowing at his closeness.  "You expect me to believe you've come from a closed door meeting with your younger, more beautiful lover, and it's me that's given you an erection.  Do I look a fool?"

"No," he says, pulling away slightly so he can meet her eyes again, "never the fool."

Moving a fraction closer, he leans forward, lips pressing against the tender pulse point.  Finds it racing.  Hope awakes in him as he moves back, hands lifting to the wall, effectively holding her in place.  Arguing with her will get them nowhere, he knows this, and so he formulates a plan of attack.

Not the best method of repairing them, granted, but he knows given enough attention, he can make her pliable, more receptive to hearing him out.  He watches her, lips pulling into a smile as he remembers the imaging plaguing him through his meeting.

"You, my wife, have spent the last few hours plaguing my fantasies, pressed against this very wall."  He pauses now, eyes on hers as his head sways, before capturing her mouth with his.  At first, she doesn't respond, body rigid as his lips caress hers, but as he's preparing to pull away, she sighs, hands lifting to wrap around his neck as she matches his kiss.  Relief floods him as he pushes closer, his hands sliding down the wall to squeeze her shoulders, before continuing their trek southward to caress her body.

Arousing her as her image has done with him.

"Through that dreadfully boring meeting," he murmurs, lips trailing kisses across her face, "all I could think of was you."

His hands stop moving as they fondle her breasts, squeezing them through the thin fabric of her blouse and bra.  His thumbs circle the hardening peaks as she moans, making him brush his mouth against hers again, tenderly, before passing along her alabaster skin, his voice lower as he shares his inner most thoughts.

"Hair splayed everywhere, eyes bright, and breath catching as I kneel in front of you," he stops talking, mouth catching hers in a passionate embrace, before gingerly sinking to the floor, his hands continuing to explore the gentle curves hidden behind fabric.

He looks up, pleased to see she's watching him through a haze of arousal.

"Do you know what the single most satisfying thought was that kept repeating through my mind?" he asks, fingers gripping the material of her skirt to lift it.  At the shake of her head, he continues, eyes leaving hers to stare at the prize he's been fantasizing over all afternoon.  "How wonderful you would taste when I did this."

Before she can form the question in her mind, his mouth is on her, tongue darting under the lace of her knickers.

She gasps; his teeth nip at her labia.

Her hands reach for his head pressing him closer; he rewards her with a firm swipe of tongue.

It doesn't take long for Ruth to start mewling, her body taunt as Harry pulls back.  He's watching her now, eyes black with arousal, as she moans softly.

"No, no, no.  More."

His hands are on his belt, undoing the buckle even as he leverages himself to a standing position.  He watches her, hand brushing her cheek as he pushes down his trousers and trunks.  "Look at me," is his whispered plea, thumb brushing the cress of her cheek.

She struggles to open her eyes, wanting nothing more than to find the release he had so relentlessly built in her.  But she does, hands clutching at his shoulders as blue eyes meet brown.  Seeing the passion; and yes, the love and tenderness; she gasps.

"I love _you,_ Ruth Pearce."

He doesn't give her a chance to affirm or deny her own feelings, his mouth moving to capture hers.  Hand on her leg, he lifts it round his waist, feeling her moist heat cradle his erection.  Guiding himself with a hand, he's soon buried in her tight warmth, her moans of satisfaction pushing him dangerously close to the edge.  It doesn't take much effort to push her over the edge, her loud groan of satisfaction muffled by his own.

 

 

* * *

 

His hand in the center of her back, Harry guides Ruth to their front door, his free hand reaching for the keys even as he helps her.  Their frantic coupling followed by the crying jag on his office floor has left her emotionally and physically drained.  Guilt eats at him, knowing he has done this to her, and her quiet confession, buried between sobs into his chest, that she wants to hate him, but can't, pushes home how much his actions have hurt her.

She loves him, even after his being an utter ass, and he vows, he'll find a way to not only make things right again, but to show her how much he loves her.

It's only as he pushes open the door and steps inside that he fully understands it might be too late.  Arm around her waist, he stops - and stares.

 

 

* * *

 

**_AN: Hopefully you've enjoyed, and thank you so much for all the reviews you've left.  I know the subject matter not something everyone enjoys - the thought of Harry cheating on Ruth is difficult to fathom with the wonderful world fanfic writers have created, but he is a man, and she a woman, and they have their downfalls._ **


	5. Chapter 5

_**For** **Storybookgirl08; for reminding me to never give up on writing.** _

* * *

It's the normalcy that wakes her. The feeling of a...rightness...that the evening air has to it. One that has been missing since  _it_  happened. Replaced with a wrongness in the world; and to the house; that has been chased away.

Her eyes flutter open and she blinks at the blackness blinding her, seconds passing as she waits for her eyes to adjust to the deadness of the night. As the room comes into focus, she turns her head to the left, fully expecting to find her husband sound asleep beside her. The low, deep snores of NREM sleep filling the air.

No Harry.

Vaguely, she remembers him helping her home the night before, his arm warm around her waist as he guided her into the house. The sound of his gasp of surprise and dismay still vividly in her mind as he had found the packing boxes scattered around the sitting room. Of the silent pleas in his eyes, begging her for answers she just wasn't ready - or willing - to give.

She remembers him undressing her for a second time that evening, the soft touch of his fingers singeing her skin as he peeled her bra from her body, his touch markedly different from the caresses earlier in the evening. To the warmth of the old t-shirt he'd slid onto her body, his hands brushing her hair from her face as he'd helped her into bed, his lips warm against her hair as he'd whispered goodnight.

She's sure it wasn't a dream, the feel of his fingers too real to be anything but reality.

And yet, she fully expected him to have stayed. To be asleep in their bed beside her, staking a claim to the relationship he vehemently swore he wanted to save. That he cherished more than anything in his life.

"Stupid," she mutters to herself.

Rolling onto her side, she settles into her pillow, her hands sliding under the cool fabric of the pillowcase to pull it closer.

And stops.

For a moment, her sleep-addled mind doesn't comprehend the scene before her, but then, something slips through. Pushing up on her elbow, she quietly watches the slow rise and fall of his chest. Feels pity for him at the kink he's bound to have in his neck from the contorted angle his head is at in the chair. And smiles at the lightness of the curls highlighted in the moonlight from the window.

She's not sure how long she watches him sleep before she rises. Knows it's long enough to ensure he's deeply asleep before padding barefoot across the hardwood. Squatting, she slowly and carefully undoes the laces to his shoes, sliding the pricey leather from his feet before pulling off the navy socks. There's not much she can do for his trousers and shirt, not without waking him, but as she silently stands and watches him, she can feel the love she has for him within her.

Without a word, she crosses to the bed, her fingers grabbing the thick throw tossed across the bottom. Shaking it out as she moves to stand at his side, she drops it over him, tucking the edge under his stubble covered chin. As she straightens, her fingers brush one of those wayward curls she had been smiling at earlier from his forehead, musing how easy and yet so hard it is to dislike someone with as much vengeance as she does him, and yet still feel as deep a love as she does.

To care for him as much; perhaps even slightly more; than she had the week before.

Leaning forward, she brushes her lips softly against the skin of his forehead, the lingering spice of his cologne filling her nose as she mutters, "I love you."

Her fingers trailing down his blanket covered arm, she turns back to the bed, her footsteps as silent as before as she crosses the space. Sliding between the cotton sheets, she settles on her right side again. Her lips are pulled into a smile as she drifts off to sleep again, never seeing the eyes of the man in the chair snap open.

He watches her for a moment, his own lips curving into a smile as he says, "I love you too Ruth," before letting his eyes close again.

* * *

_**AN: I apologize profusely for how long it has taken me to update this, and thank you each greatly for the countless reviews and messages I have gotten imploring me to finish this. While I never mean to disappear from writing, I've had some personal things to work through these past few months before picking up the pen again - or in this case, the keyboard - and though I'm still working on some things, I do hope to continue at least writing this story. Because while the topic of betrayal and trust has become infinitely personal; and at times much too painful to write; this is perhaps one of my favorite stories to date. So again, thank you to all who have written to me, and I hope you'll continue to leave your thoughts and comments here.** _

_**Xx Jenn** _


	6. Chapter 6

It is the far-off clash of metal on metal that has Ruth waking early Tuesday morning. For a moment, in the heavy inkiness of dawn, she lies there, struggling to wake her mind enough to gather her bearings. She blinks, her eyes taking in the pale blue of bedroom walls as her mind registers the continued noise as that of the weekly rubbish truck beginning its slow journey down the normally quiet street. About her, the house is quiet, a soft ticking and toking of the clock on the distant bed stand the only other sound she hears.

As her eyes adjust to the weak light illuminating the darkened room, she finds her gaze drawn to the overstuffed chair, empty now save for the thick throw folded neatly atop its high back. He's gone, filters through her mind and with a sigh, she rolls onto her back. Silently she listens for the telltale rattle of pipes in the en-suite, a hope deep in her belly the only sign that she is wishing her husband is still about.

Nothing.

In a deep recess of her mind, she chides herself for even hoping, the part of her bitter, and angry, at his betrayal towards not only their marriage, but also her as well even now saying she's better off without him. And really, should she expect any different from a man not only willing to sleep with another woman while proclaiming his forever love to her, but to do so within the house they call home? For two hundred and sixteen hours, she has thought this same thought over and over.

Is Harry Pearce even worth it?

And quickly following that thought is yes, from the even deeper part of her heart and mind that still loves him. Will always love him. He is worth it. They are worth it.

She is so confused.

Her eyes drift briefly to that quietly ticking clock. 05:04 greets her. It does not take any time to know she will not be going back to sleep. Not with the full mind of thoughts about the state of her marriage, of herself and her husband, of everything, filling her mind. Bitterness fills her as she pushes the covers to the side, her bare legs swinging free of the cloth as her elbows push her torso upwards. Feet meeting the cool wood of hardwood, she allows that bitterness to hold on as she makes her way into the en-suite, to grow as she goes about her morning business.

He left without a goodbye. Without a touch or a kiss or any other kind of contact. He may swear he wants to be with her, to save their marriage, but his actions defy that. In her resentfulness she notes the only interactions they have had this past week have either been relating to work or to sex. Nothing else, and as she washes her hands, she does not register this is almost wholly her own doing as she has done nothing but push him away.

So hurt and full of anger is she that she fails to register the moisture still in the air from a recent shower, nor does she realize as she pulls her dressing gown from its hook on the door that Harry's larger one is missing. Stepping from the bathroom, she pulls it tight around her frame, the anger within her growing even as she misses the bulk of a discarded suit atop the hamper, the spicy scent of his shampoo and shower gel completely passing her by.

It is only as she passes the open door of his office that the scent of freshly fried bacon cuts through that resentment, stopping her forward momentum. Pausing now, she sniffs the air, the aroma of her favorite tea whipping about her even as she hears his voice, quiet yet filled with authority.

"I really do not care," he says, completely unaware of his new audience, "what anyone thinks." His back it to her as she steps into the doorway, watching him closely as he stares out at the street, hair a-curl atop his head, his mobile pressed firmly against his ear. "Things are quiet at the moment; as quiet as they possibly can be in our line of work; and we need this time away."

For a moment, the anger and resentment return as she imagines he is talking to Bridgette. Making plans with his lover even as he tries to tempt her with bacon sandwiches and fresh tea. She steps forward again, a kind of rage filling her and she makes to speak when he continues, "Adam – handle things. Ruth and I are going away."

And with that the anger melts as she watches him end the call, his shoulders tight in the navy terry of his dressing gown as he slides the thin black device into his pocket. She doesn't move for now, doesn't make a sound as she watches him, his words going through her mind as she wonders where it is that they're going. Does she want to go somewhere with him? A holiday abroad is not going to cure the strife of their marriage. Is not going to fix what is broken.

"You're thinking awfully loud Ruth." His voice has her startling, her cheeks flushing as she sees the cheeky grin in the reflection of the glass. He turns now; eyes alight as he rolls on the balls of his feet, his hand sliding into the aforementioned pockets of his dressing gown.

"I thought you'd left," she mutters, her own hands twisting together in nervousness as she steps further into the room, for the moment ignoring his lighthearted comment. Stopping at the desk, the scent of bergamot wafting to her nose, she watches him, unsure really what to say or do.

Unsure himself, he steps towards her, his nerves masked with the lighthearted smile he had offered her just moments before. "Never. I thought to make you breakfast, surprise you with it in bed." He stops now, just a meter or so in front of her, his eyes intently watching hers. "But I see you've other thoughts."

"Harry," she says now, weariness at the prospect of the long overdue talk they need to have filled in those two syllables.

"Sit," he mutters, his hand lightly gripping her arm as he directs her to his empty desk chair.

She makes to sit, her body heavy with so many emotions, when his words from the week before fill her mind, the image of her husband and his lover bent over this desk, fu…"No," she says, wrenching her arm from his grip. Confusion fills his face as she steps away, the heat of anger filling her pale eyes, and he wonders only briefly what it is that has her so angry, his answer received when she wraps the material of her dressing gown tights and spits out "I will not sit where you've screwed your lover."

She steps away now; his painful words still fresh in her mind. "…took me by the hand and led me to my study. Where I leaned her over my desk…" The image of her husband standing in this very room, trousers and trunks at his feet, the naked flesh of a woman so many years younger than she pushed high in the air as he pressed into her has bile rising in her throat.

Without a word she turns from the room, her feet smacking against the wood of the hall as she runs the few meters to their bedroom and into the en-suite. Sinking to her knees, she shoves the lid of the loo up, the porcelain banging against the basin as she wretches, her fingers grip the seat in support as she is violently ill. Shoulders shaking, she lets her forehead fall to the back of the seat where absently she is aware of the body behind her, of the hand gathering her hair loosely as its mate wraps itself around her waist in support.

She is sick again, the basics of the act has her body convulsing below his gentle touch and she is aware of his voice, so soft and tender and filled with regret as he holds her in a loving grip. "God, I am so sorry Ruth," he pauses here, his lips so gently pressing against her hair, her cheek, her nose as she turns to look at him, weak and smelling of sick.

"I can't live here anymore," is the only response she has, body sagging into his as she pushes away from the toilet in weakness.

Without a word he stands and gathers her in his arms, cradles her against his body as he closes the loo lid and flushes. Silent still, he carries her into the attached bedroom, sitting on the bed with the same weariness he saw within her. As he leans against the headboard, he holds her tight, the weariness heavy as she lifts her gaze to his and says "I just cannot live in this house anymore."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay in updating, my muse has not been in the mood to write any H&R. I'm hoping she'll stick about long enough to update those stories that I've started, so if you've something you want to see done, please let me know. And I do hope you'll let me know what you think of this update. ~ J

**Author's Note:**

> Should you not hate me too much, I would love a review to know your thoughts.


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